


Ache

by thereisnoshameinbeingcrazy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Backrubs, Fluff, Good Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pack Feels, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 07:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnoshameinbeingcrazy/pseuds/thereisnoshameinbeingcrazy
Summary: "What the hell did Derek do to me?”“Oh, the back crack thing? Isn’t it great? He’s done it to all of us.”“He...cracks your backs.” It came out as a statement, even though Stiles was questioning everything.“Oh yeah, cracks them, rubs them, rubs our feet, whatever.”“That doesn’t sound very...Alpha-like.”Stiles comes home from college for the summer and finds out that Derek has some hidden talents.





	Ache

Stiles fidgeted in his seat for the hundredth time that hour—and that wasn’t an exaggeration. His back had been bothering him for quite a while, but his discomfort had finally peaked into pain about an hour into his drive back to Beacon Hills. 

He knew he was getting older, because it was falling asleep in a chair at the library while studying for finals that had put a kink in his neck, and it hadn’t really ever gone away. It was a pain that built gradually, and before he realized it, he was nineteen going on ninety. This pain was different from the breaks and bruises he’d gotten as a teenager; it sat underneath his skin, twisted deep in his muscles, causing a constant, low-grade migraine behind his eyes. 

It made it hard to study, sleep, sit in class, everything. And now that he’d been behind the wheel for the last three hours with little else to focus on, he was eager to be done with this drive. 

He shifted in the seat again, not even looking for comfort or relief anymore, just looking for any kind of change in the tightness of his shoulders, the ache in his lower back from sitting for so long. 

As he passed the sign for Beacon Hills city limits, his foot nudged the gas pedal ever lower, hurrying home. Stiles was well aware that he was speeding, and that being the Sheriff's kid didn’t give him a pass on breaking traffic laws. He just needed to be out of his damn Jeep. Not that he hadn’t considered a rest stop to stretch, but he knew it would be even harder to get back in the car after a break. 

“Finally,” Stiles muttered to himself when he came to the turn for his neighborhood. “Just a couple more streets,” he promised himself. He recited the street names from memory until he was turning into his own driveway. Shifting the Jeep into Park, he sighed in relief. It was over. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them.

Something tapped on his window, making him jump, his back twinging in pain at the sudden movement. 

“Happy to see you, son.” His dad called through the glass. Stiles grinned, climbing out of the Jeep to hug him. The tight squeeze felt good; the hand clapped between his shoulder blades did not. Trying not to wince, Stiles planted his hands on his lower back and stretched his shoulders back. All of his muscles felt tight and stiff. 

“Sore from sitting in the car so long?” His father asked. 

“Yeah, that must be it.” Stiles didn’t need to go into details; it would just make his father worry. 

“Well, let’s get these bags inside, they won’t move themselves.” Oh, how Stiles wished they could. He balked at the idea of carrying all of his things up the stairs to his childhood bedroom, where he would be staying for the summer. He just wanted to lay down for a couple of hours and rest. “Well, look who it is,” his dad pointed over Stiles’ shoulder, and he hadn’t even turned around completely before Scott was tackling him to the grassy lawn, climbing all over him and yelling about how happy he was to see him.

Stiles laughed through the wincing pain, pushing Scott’s nuzzling face away from his. “Yeah, yeah, me too, buddy, it’s good to see you too. Now get off me, fragile human here!” Scott rolled off him, then jerked him to his feet for a slightly more appropriate bear hug. 

“All right, boys, you’ve got all summer. Scott, make yourself useful, grab some bags from the Jeep.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stilinski!” Scott chirped, and with his help, they moved everything in one trip. Scott was able to carry a lot of stuff, thanks to his werewolfy strength. In fact, he seemed even bigger than he did the last time Stiles had seen him over Christmas Break. He knew his friend had been working out with Derek, as well as running together during full moons, but he was still surprised by all that muscle. With it came confidence too, or maybe that was the Alpha status. Scott just seemed to stand taller now. 

Now that everything was moved and his dad had gone downstairs to order pizzas, Stiles lowered himself onto his twin bed, so grateful to be off that stupid cot in his dorm room back at school. Scott had no problem wiggling in next to him on the narrow bed, draping an arm and leg over his best friend. They’d always been close, but maybe not this close...Stiles wondered if that was the influence of Derek again, encouraging Pack cuddles and scenting. 

“You smell funny,” Scott told him, sniffing his hair. “Like strangers and...exhaustion. You don’t smell like Stiles.”

“What does a Stiles normally smell like?” He asked, mostly joking. 

“The forest. Excitement. Pack.”

Stiles craned his neck (painfully) to scowl at his best friend. “What the hell does excitement smell like? What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I’m still honing that skill. Derek has been teaching me how to do it.”

“Sounds like you’ve been spending a lot of time with Derek lately,” Stiles said, with a little sourness. 

Scott hugged him even closer. “Yeah, but you’ll always be my best friend.”

“You consider Derek a friend? Enough that you have to have to reaffirm our best friend status?”

“It’s...he’s a good guy, Stiles. He’s different than we thought he was.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

“I’m serious,” Scott said, sitting up to look Stiles in the face. “He’s been a good influence on everyone. He’s a good leader when things aren’t going to shit.”

“Arguably, that’s when you need to be a good leader—”

“Yeah, but we never listened to him before. He’s proven that he cares about all of us, and we trust him. He asks about you all the time—”

“Whoa whoa, why does he ask about me?” Stiles asked incredulously. 

“You moved the farthest away, and you check in with him the least.”

“What—since when was I supposed to check in with him?!”

“That’s not what I meant, he just...you’re part of the Pack, and he tries to give everyone in the Pack what they need. He said you needed space.”

Stiles closed his eyes and rubbed at them; this new information was not helping his headache. “I don’t want to talk about Derek anymore. I just want to sleep. And eat pizza. And sleep some more.”

He felt Scott nodding vigorously. “Exhaustion,” he stated, like that confirmed what he smelled earlier, like it wasn’t obvious to anyone that Stiles was exhausted. Scott laid back down and snuggled up close. Stiles thought about pushing him off the bed, but he had to admit that a warm body next to his felt good, even in the cramped space. 

They napped until his dad knocked on the door and announced the pizza’s arrival, not even batting an eye at their snuggling. The three men gathered around the table, which felt a lot smaller than it used to, thanks to Stiles’ long legs and Scott’s broad shoulders. There was the general small talk about school, work, the gossip that Stiles had missed while he was away. It felt good to be back home with friends and family, and after that nap and a belly full of pizza, Stiles felt better than he had in weeks, maybe even months. It made him regret choosing a school three hours away. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, a chance to find out who he was without the influence of werewolves and the pressure of being the son of the Sheriff. Turns out, he was a guy who missed this, and his wacky town, and the neighborhood wolf pack.

Stiles stretched, wincing at the tightness in his shoulders. He wondered if a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed without the stress of exams would fix everything. Just as he was considering going right back to sleep, Scott let out a burp and an announcement. 

“Pack party at Derek’s tonight!”

“Noooo, Scotty.”

“Yes, Stiles. Boyd and Erica will be there, it will be great!”

“I need sleep,” Stiles whined. 

“You had sleep, we took a nap. And the party won’t even go that late because most of us have to work tomorrow.”

“What kind of party are we talking here, son?” John asked Scott, his eyebrow raising. 

“No alcohol! Most of us can’t get drunk anyway, and regardless, Derek wouldn’t let us drink underage.”

Stiles grumbled. “Sounds very responsible for a guy who has put our lives in danger. On more than one occasion.”

His dad chuckled at him. “Oh Stiles, he’s not so bad.”

“My own father! Singing Derek’s praises!”

“Go to the party, son. See your friends.”

“My own father! The Sheriff! Encouraging me to go to a party!”

Despite his protests, Scott dragged him out the front door and to his mom’s minivan, opening the front passenger door and all but pushing him into the seat. 

His protests turned to grumbles, and those turned into him looking forward to seeing the Pack again, even if everyone wasn’t home from school yet, and even if Derek would be there. And of course he’d be there, it was his house. Which Scott had informed him that Derek bought so that everyone had a place to hang out and go to if they needed a break. Isaac had pretty much moved in, apparently. 

The house was nice, Stiles had to admit. Set far back in the woods with no neighbors to notice any wolfy behavior, it was a good home base. What it lacked in decoration, it made up for in space. Even from the driveway, Stiles could tell that there were plenty of rooms for the Pack to use. They could probably all move in if they wanted. It seemed like a lot of space for a single guy. 

The thought occurred to him that maybe Derek wasn’t single anymore. Maybe the house and the new nurturing behavior and the responsibility was all for a new girl in his life. He didn’t know why the thought made his stomach feel sour and his headache throb. Derek was hot like burning; of course someone would snatch that up. As they walked up to the porch, Stiles convinced himself that he was upset because Derek didn’t exactly have the best track record with women. 

Scott opened the (unlocked) front door and walked in (without knocking). Stiles guessed that in a household of werewolves, a good sense of hearing was all the warning they would need. 

“Stiles!” A woman’s voice screamed, and before he knew it, he had an armful of curvy body and a mouthful of blonde hair. He spat it out and screamed back, “Erica!” She shook him up a little, nuzzling her face into his neck. She stepped back to let Isaac greet him. This greeting was calmer, but still with a hug and a nuzzle. Boyd clapped a big hand on his back, and Stiles didn’t even have to pretend like it didn’t hurt, because the force of it sent him stumbling, almost falling into the floor. Scott caught him around the middle, laughing and swinging him around. 

“Fragile human!” Stiles yelled as a reminder to Scott. “Weak, fragile human!” 

“That’s enough, guys,” a voice called out, quiet but no less authoritative. A voice that made Stiles shiver. A voice that he’d missed. Damn it. 

“Hi, Derek,” Stiles said as Scott set him on his feet and the rest of them dispersed, going back to their former activity, which looked to be Mario Kart. Stiles rubbed at his lower back, feeling like he couldn’t stand up completely straight. The spinning has his head throbbing as well. 

“Hi, Stiles.” The older man looked at him, not with a smile on his face, but with scrutiny. Derek reached a hand out to him, for what Stiles thought was a handshake. Instead, Derek just caught his wrist and pulled him closer, for a kiss?? his brain thought wildly for a second. The werewolf put his palm on Stiles’ lower back, right where he was rubbing at a twisted muscle. Stiles let his own hand fall away in surprise. 

“Derek?” Wordlessly, the man ran his hand slowly up Stiles’ spine, the pressure heavy and warm. Yep, shivers. Derek’s hand stopped right between his shoulder blades, at the blooming center of his pain. Stiles thought for a second that he might use his werewolf pain suck ability, or whatever it was called. 

Derek turned Stiles around gently, until they were back to front. He put Stiles in a kind of headlock, with his fingers laced together behind his head. 

“This is the weirdest hug ever,” Stiles said, totally at a loss for what was happening. Nobody on the couch seemed to be reacting whatsoever. 

“Put your hands on top of my hands. Lace your fingers together.” Bewildered, Stiles did as instructed. It pulled at the muscles of his shoulders in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasant, but it was easy to be distracted by Derek’s hot body behind him. And in this case, he meant hot as in temperature, the warmth of his werewolf body relaxing him. “Deep breath in,” Derek instructed, and he complied. On the exhale, Derek lifted him. The movement was quick: an easy lift, a targeted tug, a weird pop, and Stiles felt something release deep inside him. He moaned involuntarily, his back feeling suddenly loose. Warmth spread across his shoulder blades, and when Derek put him back on his feet, his legs went weak. He was guided over to the couch and deposited next to Scott. A controller was put in his hands, but he just stared at it for a few seconds. Dazed, he looked around the room for Derek. He was already seated in an armchair on the other side of the couch, game controller in his own hands—his magic hands—and eyes focused on the screen. 

Nobody seemed to be reacting to what Stiles considered to be a miracle. His back pain and headache were about a quarter of what they were when he walked in the door. He had a hard time believing that Derek could just look at him, touch him once, and know exactly what to do—whatever it was that he did—to make Stiles feel better than he had in a long time. 

“C’mon man, you’re on my team!” Scott nudged him out of his trance, and Stiles finally looked at the TV to see his character still sitting at the starting line as everyone else raced away. He shook his head to clear it and jumped into the video game, still marveling at how he felt, but competitive enough to put it out of his mind for the moment. 

They played games and trash-talked while snacking on a combination of junk food and healthy snacks (provided by Derek) until a respectable hour, when Derek called it quits and sent everyone home (or offered a bed if anyone was too tired to drive.) Stiles was still a little high on his pain relief and still totally baffled by Good Guy Derek, who made sure he gave each member of his pack a slice of his attention tonight, talked to them about any problems they were having, and offered to help where he could. It seemed like he’d been replaced by a pod person. Pod werewolf. Whatever. 

Thinking it better not to say anything in case he said the wrong thing, Stiles just gave a simple, “Bye, Derek,” while Scott led the way back to the minivan. 

“Bye, Stiles.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest, and Stiles had a harder time than usual looking away from the toned muscles there—well, everywhere. He followed Scott out the door, and when they were a couple of blocks away, Stiles finally found his voice again. 

“What the hell was that?”

“What? The party? Why, was it—”

“No, what the hell did Derek do to me?”

“Oh, the back crack thing? Isn’t it great? He’s done it to all of us.”

“He...cracks your backs.” It came out as a statement, even though Stiles was questioning everything. 

“Oh yeah, cracks them, rubs them, rubs our feet, whatever.”

“That doesn’t sound very...Alpha-like.”

Scott shrugged. “Part of being a good Alpha is taking care of your pack.” He was acting like it wasn’t a big deal, but Stiles couldn’t get the mental image out of his head of Derek sitting on the floor, rubbing Boyd’s feet. 

Scott dropped him off at home, and after a cursory goodnight to his dad, Stiles went up to bed. He still couldn’t believe how good he felt, and how Derek just knew. Knew right where his pain was, and how to address it. Stiles spent a good amount of time in the dark of his bedroom thinking about what Derek did, and it inevitably led to a fantasy about what he wanted Derek to do. To him. If the guy was just giving out massages now, Stiles wouldn’t mind feeling those big, warm hands on his shoulders, his back, lower yet…

Stiles was comfortable enough to get hard for the first time in weeks, and of course it was to the remembered feel of Derek’s front to his back, their hips aligned, his strong arms wrapped around him.

He wanted to jerk off, but he thought that maybe it was a little soon, considering he’d only been home for about six hours. He really was tired, so he fell asleep instead to memories of the looks of concentration on Derek’s face throughout the night, especially when he was concentrated on Stiles. 

*

The rest of the pack members arrived back in Beacon Hills through the next week, and suddenly, Pack parties felt like a high school reunion. Stiles had missed the closeness, everyone piling together on the couches and chairs and spilling onto the plush rug on the floor when there wasn’t room. Stiles thought that Derek looked pleased by the noise and the comfortable atmosphere in his home. He was still looking around for a girlfriend that could have influenced all of this, but after several visits, he had to admit that maybe Scott was right. Maybe Derek had made all these changes because he was trying to be a good Alpha. Which sounded an awful lot like Derek just trying to be a good person. 

Stiles also had to admit that it was a good look on him. Derek looked more relaxed than he had in years, though that probably had partly to do with the lack of threats to the territory in the last year. Things seemed to clear up right around high school graduation, which was for the better, because the Pack had mostly scattered across the state. 

But not Derek. He’d stayed here, created a home base, and worked on strengthening his Pack, his territory, and himself. Damn. He really was a good Alpha. It made his heart ache a little, in a good way. Stiles’ eyes sought the man out, thinking he’d go tell Derek exactly what he was thinking. He found him sandwiched between Erica and Lydia on the couch, an amused smile on his face while he listened to their banter. Stiles knew he was staring and grinning, and apparently, someone else noticed too. 

“C’mon, Stilinski,” Jackson said, grabbing him by the back of his t-shirt and dragging him across the room. When he straightened up and whirled around to snap at him, Jackson shoved a lacrosse stick in his face. “Let’s go.” Most of the boys were running out the back door, armed with more lacrosse sticks, a ball flying back and forth. 

“Oh hell yeah.” Stiles followed them out outside, appreciating for the first time Derek’s huge backyard and expansive property. The ball was tossed to him, and Stiles caught it reflexively. 

They played outside for a good hour, with Stiles, Scott, and Isaac versus Jackson, Danny, and Boyd. Stiles was tackled, pushed, and tripped more times than he could count, but it was the final shove from Jackson that had Stiles face-planting the grass that really did it. 

“I don’t even have the ball!” He yelled from the ground, back muscles seizing as he watched Scott score the winning goal. 

“Man up, Stilinski,” Jackson taunted, even going so far as to literally kick him while he was down. 

“I’m putting wolfsbane into something you eat, just you wait.”

“Not a wolf,” he reminded Stiles. 

“Then I’ll put shit in it! Or something you can’t smell, or—” he trailed off as he tried to roll to his feet, his back muscles spasming and protesting. Scott was next to him immediately, pulling Stiles’ arm over his shoulders. That hurt too, but at least Scott was supporting most of his weight. They flipped Jackson off in tandem as they passed on their way to the house. 

Scott deposited him as gently as he knew how onto the open couch, where Erica and Lydia came to fawn over him and pet him in sympathy. The rest of the Pack came in and settled in for pizza and a movie, and Stiles got some of his revenge by insisting that he needed the whole couch so he could lay flat on his stomach and that his head had to be elevated—specifically on Lydia’s lap. Jackson had to sit on the floor while his girlfriend ran her hands through Stiles’ hair and held up his glass for him to drink from the bendy straw. Stiles was milking it a little, but his back really did hurt. His lower back twinged every time he twisted a little, and he hated to think about having to stand up, drive, bend over, do literally anything.

Even through the discomfort, Stiles thought about how good it felt to be with the Pack again (Jackson notwithstanding). College was lonely. His roommate didn’t give a shit about where he was or what classes he was taking or any part of his life. He’d made no real friends because he couldn’t really relate to them at all, not after everything he’d gone through in high school. He’d lost any potential study partners when his classmates found out he had ADHD and weird study habits. It made him feel untethered. That’s what he originally wanted, to not be tied down to Beacon Hills. Now that he’d been away, it didn’t feel like being tied down. It felt like being anchored. It made his heart ache a little bit. 

After the movie, people started leaving the room in pairs, either to leave for the night or retire to one of Derek’s guest rooms. Soon, it was just Stiles and Derek—even though he couldn’t turn his head anymore to see the man, he recognized that particular brand of quiet. 

“I’m just gonna crash here for the night,” Stiles told him, reaching for his phone to text his dad. “Specifically, right here, on this couch. I think I might have to live here for the rest of my life.” 

“Okay.” The voice was closer than he expected, so Stiles looked away from his phone, craning his head up to look at Derek and cringing the whole time. The man stood behind the arm of the couch, looking unimpressed and somehow worried at the same time. Those damn eyebrows. 

“We need to teach your Pack that Stiles is not a chew toy.” Derek opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then he closed it, even tighter than before. Stiles dropped his head before his slight headache could get any worse, closing his eyes against the blue glare from the TV. He heard Derek moving around the couch, and then he felt the warm, heavy pressure of his hands on his shoulders. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut so that they didn’t fly open in surprise. 

“Is this okay?” Derek asked quietly, fingers flexing slightly, thumbs tracing his shoulder blades. 

Stiles swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Yeah.” Derek ran his hands down his back, like he did on Stiles’ first day back, when he found the center of the pain and made it go away. His big hands found the tightness in his lower back, and he dug his thumbs in with intent. 

Stiles clenched his jaw, partly to keep from making any sounds and partly because it hurt. But after a few minutes, it hurt less, and Derek’s hands migrated up higher, finding each sore muscle and kneading it. Stiles didn’t realize that his hands were clenched into fists until Derek nudged his knuckles. His jaw was clenched and his eyes shut tight as well, a little afraid of the sounds he might make if he let himself go. 

“Relax.” It wasn’t a command, but the last part of Stiles that was trying to control his reaction relaxed, and he felt like he melted under Derek’s touch. The man moved his focus to his shoulders and neck, squeezing the muscles in just the right way. Stiles was suddenly grateful that he was laying on his stomach, because parts of him were reacting to the pressure of Derek’s fingers on the back of his neck. The skin-to-skin contact surprised him, and Stiles was suddenly thinking about what this would have felt like if he didn’t have a shirt on, if Derek’s strong hands had traced each muscle in his naked back, their skin warm where they touched…

Yeah, he was very grateful that he was laying on his stomach. 

If Derek noticed his arousal, he didn't bring attention to it. Maybe this was a normal reaction to have. Stiles couldn’t think too hard about that, because he was rapidly drifting off to sleep, so deeply relaxed that it would be impossible to leave now, even if he wanted to. 

Stiles was only vaguely aware of Derek’s hands leaving his back, and his fingertips lingering in his hair before disappearing altogether. 

*

It took them fifteen minutes to leave the next morning because everyone kept touching him. Every which way he turned, someone was petting his hair, or rubbing their hands on the back of his neck, or hugging him for extended lengths of time. There was nuzzling and everything. Derek left him alone, but even Scott was in on the touching, and he was leaving with Stiles. 

When he finally saw an opportunity, Stiles made a break for the front door and his Jeep, Scott running after him like it was a game. The clambered into the seats and Stiles reversed out of the driveway in a way that wasn’t strictly safe. 

“What is it with all you puppies lately?” Stiles asked, wishing he sounded more exasperated. 

“It’s a wolf thing,” Scott said with a shrug. 

“Yeah, no shit, no one was nuzzling me before we knew the definition of lycanthropy.”

Scott scowled at him. “It’s a scenting thing. You just...” His best friend paused, squirming in the seat like he didn’t want to answer the question.

“Spit it out, Scotty.”

“You just smelled especially good this morning, is all.”

“What does that mean, dude? What did I smell like?”

Another pause, another squirm, and finally, a sigh of resignation. “You smelled like Derek.”

Stiles gave him a puzzled look for as long as he could before having to focus on the road again. “Then why aren’t you guys all over Derek, if you like how he smells so much?”

“It’s not just Derek, it’s...StilesandDerek.” Scott said the last part so fast that it sounded like one word, and for just a second, Stiles thrilled at the thought. StilesandDerek.

“You guys are creepy. He rubbed my back last night after you all played hacky sack with me.” Scott didn’t answer him, and he knew it was because he was withholding more information, but Stiles didn’t think he needed to learn anything else for a little while. 

A little while turned out to be as long as it took them to get to the Waffle House and dig into their breakfast. 

With a mouthful of pancakes, Stiles asked, “So, why do you guys want to get all hopped up on the smell of StilesandDerek?” Scott choked on his orange juice, and Stiles was lucky that the beverage didn’t get sprayed into his face. 

“Jeez, Stiles, I don’t know what to tell you. It smells good. Right. Like Pack.” He shoved bacon into his mouth so that he didn’t have to talk anymore. 

“Creepy.” Stiles reiterated. “Stop smelling me.”

“It’s not a thing we can help! Can we change the subject, please?”

“Sure, Scotty.” Stiles waited until his friend was trying to stuff half a pancake into his mouth before continuing. “Where did Derek get his magic hands?”

Choking only slightly this time, Scott glared at him. “Derek said it was a thing he learned growing up, because wolves are so physical. Like, we do so much running and exercising and training, or in our case, getting hurt, that it’s good to know how to relieve pain.”

“Can’t you guys just heal?”

Scott shook his head, eyes on his breakfast potatoes. “Not from stuff like that. Healing is for broken bones or cuts or stuff like that. But it doesn’t help for pain from, like, shifting or sore muscles. Injury pain is different from, like, chronic pain.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask another question, but Scott cut him off before he could get started. “No, subject change, for real. And I get to pick the subject this time. Have you picked out all of your classes for next year?” Stiles fidgeted, pushing his eggs around his plate. 

“I haven’t really looked at them, no.” Scott arched an eyebrow, and goddammit, he really was spending too much time with Derek. That was a patented Derek eyebrow arch. “What? I’ve been...busy.”

“Why have you been putting it off?”

“I don’t know, Scotty. I kind of...don't want to go back. I mean, I still want to go to school, just maybe not there. Maybe...somewhere closer.” He’d missed his dad, and Scott, and the Pack, and no amount of phone calls or Skype replaced being home. It didn’t hurt that Derek was here either, and that he was even more crushworthy than before. Stiles had thought the distance would lessen his feelings, but seeing Derek thriving made him like him even more. 

“I think that would be good for you,” Scott said with a smile. “You smell a lot better now than you did when you first got home.”

“Hey, I thought you wanted to change the subject from smelling me!” Stiles lobbed a dirty napkin at him, and things devolved into laughter and jokes from there. 

*

The summer was passing by slowly, leisurely. There were more Pack Parties, and Pack Outings, and Pack Training Sessions (which he was exempt from, thankfully. He spent this time lounging with cool drinks on the porch with Lydia.) The summer had been quiet and fun, so of course, something had to go wrong, right on schedule. It started with a phone call from his dad, during one of their training sessions. Every wolf tuned in with their super-hearing when they picked up on his father’s frantic tone.

There had been an attack in the woods, he’d said, a group of young people hiking in the Preserve, most of them seriously hurt. Once it was established that the group was not his group, that everyone here was okay, Stiles’ dad ended the call with a warning. “Stay out of the woods.”

Stiles made eye contact with Derek across the backyard. They communicated something, then all of the wolves turned in tandem and ran into the trees, shifting as they went. This left Lydia and Stiles scrambling into the house to find the slightly illegal police scanner. 

The wolves returned an hour later, sweaty and dirty but unharmed. Scott and Isaac went to the kitchen to find something for everyone to eat. Erica and Boyd ran the perimeter around the house. Lydia and Stiles filled Derek in on what they’d heard on the police scanner. Derek got the grimoire from it’s hiding spot and flipped through the pages, hoping to stumble onto something. 

They didn’t have much to go on; the four friends were hiking in the Preserve when something attacked each of them from behind. They didn’t see what it was, so Stiles thought it was either super fast, super small, or invisible. The kids were all scratched pretty badly, enough for major blood loss. They didn’t look like knife wounds, so they were thinking claws. A lot of their valuables went missing, but they could have been lost in the attack or while they were running away. Derek said he thought he smelled something weird, like the forest but also not. 

It was a weird week for the group, a week that felt almost exactly like high school. Stiles was peeking through his dad’s reports; they were pulling all-nighters to do research; the Pack was caught between wanting to keep people safe and wanting there to be more attacks so that they had something to go on. If Stiles wasn’t snooping in the precinct or trying to keep up with the wolves patrolling the forest, he was bent over his laptop, books, and the grimoire, looking for anything helpful. He’d almost forgotten what this felt like, the exhaustion and the adrenaline making him feel important and alive. 

With all of the research came another stress headache like the one he had at school. Eyes strained from the laptop screen, neck sore from being bent over a book, shoulders tight with the tension of not another test, but the safety of the people of Beacon Hills. 

It was in the middle of another midnight research session that Stiles broke the case. “Wait,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. Derek looked up from his spot across the table with yet another book, but Stiles wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to himself, willing his brain to slow down so he could properly look at the idea. “Wait, wait, wait...” he fumbled for his phone so he could look at the dozens of pictures of the police reports. Squinting at the tiny print, it suddenly clicked. “Jewelry!” He yelled triumphantly. Derek was still watching him, his expression unchanged except for his eyebrows, which were telling Stiles to elaborate. 

“All of the wounds match up with the missing valuables!” He scrambled around the table to show Derek his phone, their shoulders pressed together as Stiles flipped through the pictures. “Look, this guy said he lost his watch, and he was clawed on his arm and wrist. This girl is missing her diamond necklace, and she was slashed across the throat. Missing belly button ring, slashed in the abdomen.”

“You think they were just...robbed?” Derek asked, unconvinced but willing to let Stiles follow this train of thought. 

“No, not robbed, just...look, no one in any of the attacks had their wallets stolen, because what is money? Just paper, it only has value to us. This thing wants gold and diamonds and...riches.”

Which is how Stiles ended up in the woods at midnight, wearing dozens of expensive things from the Pack. More specifically, from Jackson and Lydia. They were the only ones who could afford those things. Derek could afford it, but he had no use for jewelry. 

Stiles maintained that he had to be the bait since he would smell the least supernatural. Jackson had volunteered, which surprised everyone until they realized it was so that he could protect his collection of Rolex watches, not Stiles. 

So here he was, wearing hiking boots, some riot gear from the station, three watches, five tennis bracelets, whatever rings had fit him, and more necklaces than he could count. He was alone out here; the wolves were close enough to hear an attack, but far enough away that they couldn’t be smelled. Stiles had the fleeting thought of disappearing with the goods, but he knew Jackson would hunt him down.

Stiles sighed and gave himself a little shake so that the various chain and stones made some light tinkling noises. He rubbed his eyes, mindful of the sharp stones on his fingers. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s get this show on the--”

Something hit him squarely in the back, sending him flying, yep, right down a hill, in the dark. He let out a squawk and made a lot of noise tumbling; there was no way the wolves missed that one. 

He seemed to hit every log and rock on the way down, and his fall didn’t stop so much as it was arrested by a huge fallen tree. His back hit first, knocking the wind out of him, right as something landed on his chest and started scrabbling for the shiniest of his baubles. “Fuck!” Whatever the thing was, it was small but packed a punch. His gear protected him from the scratches, but it really felt like this thing was trying to kill him. 

With a roar, Jackson hurtled over the log and right into the thing. Of course he was the first one on the scene; he’d barely get off his ass to save the town, but he’d run headfirst into the fight if his property was on the line. 

“Dick,” Stiles coughed out, even though Jackson had tackled the thing off of him and was trying to pin him down to the forest floor. Derek was next over the log, then Boyd. Scott couched down next to Stiles, checking him over. 

“No blood,” Scott informed him. 

“Still hurt,” Stiles coughed out. He felt like he couldn’t get a full breath in, and the muscles in his back were spasming painfully, but at least he didn’t have a concussion. 

In the end, the thing turned out to be some kind of goblin. Apparently, the mean, wealth-hoarding kind. It could communicate, but it didn’t say anything that gave them any hope that it would stop or leave. Boyd had to kill it after it clawed his leg open. 

The thing was ugly even before it’s throat had been ripped out, so they thought it best to burn the body. Which meant carrying it back to Derek’s house to burn it in the fire pit in the backyard. So Boyd carried the goblin and Scott half-carried Stiles. Someone had manhandled him out of the riot gear, which made it a little easier to walk, but he still knew he’d be crashing when they got back to the house. No goblin-burning for him. Besides, he didn’t think this was the kind of bonfire for s’mores. 

“What are you muttering about?” Scott asked him. 

“Nothing, Scotty.” Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face, and he realized the rings were gone. 

“Where--”

“Jackson took everything off you, don’t freak out.”

“Course he did,” Stiles said, devolving back to muttering about stupid Jackson, stupid goblin, stupid forest, stupid back, oh my god--

“We’re back,” Scott told him, giving him a little shake, which did not help. Stiles sucked in a sharp breath, but before he could cuss Scott out, Derek’s voice came from somewhere behind them. 

“I’ve got him from here, Scott. Isaac, you’re in charge of the fire. Lydia, you’re in charge of Isaac. Don’t let anything get out of control. Clean up when you’re done, and get something to eat. You can all stay here tonight if you want.”

Stiles was surprised that no one argued, and even more surprised that Scott willingly handed him over to Derek. Scott was right; they really did trust and respect him now. 

Derek led him inside, supporting more of his weight than Scott had, which was nice. 

“Just throw me on the couch,” Stiles said. “Or the floor, I bet I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference at this point.” But they walked past the living room, and he would have normally questioned that, but he couldn’t really think straight through the pain. “Stupid goblin,” he repeated instead. 

Derek took him to a guest room, where he did actually put Stiles on the floor, kneeling next to him. A pillow was produced from somewhere to cushion his forehead. Stiles peeked up sideways at Derek’s expression; he looked focused and exasperated as turned Stiles head so that he was face-down again. Derek put his hands on him, starting at the back of his neck, fanning down over his shoulder blades, following his spine down to the dip of his lower back. He repeated the process a few times, his fingers firm and probing, the floor supportive under him, the pillow soft against his face, and just that was enough to relax Stiles. 

“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek muttered, and even though it sounded like he was talking to himself, Stiles answered. 

“What?”

“Every time I touch you, you’re in knots. What even is this?” He asked, punctuating the point by pressing his thumb into a sore spot between his shoulders, a little more to the right side. 

“From doing research,” Stiles said, trying to shrug, but unable to move like that underneath the press of Derek’s thumb. 

“What do you do while you’re away at school?”

“Hurt,” Stiles said, meaning it as a joke, but he didn’t think Derek thought it was funny. Neither of them said anything for a while as he continued mapping out the various aches and pains in him.

Derek shuffled further down, and it was a testament to his pain that Stiles didn’t even get excited by Derek’s hands on his hips. 

“Deep breath in,” he instructed, and just like that very first time, Derek knew right where and how to push to unlock something deep inside him. Something popped in his pelvis (not like that, shut up) and Stiles felt it all the way down to his toes. 

Derek continued up his back, moving in tiny increments to crack more joints than Stiles even knew he had. 

“Roll onto your side.” Even with the instruction, Derek still arranged him on the floor—on his shoulder, torso twisted back, one leg bent and crossed over his body. 

With one hand on Stiles’ shoulder and the other pushing down on his bent knee, Derek spoke again. “Deep breath in.” Stiles did as asked, somehow feeling like he could breath deeper this time. As he exhaled, Derek pulled one way on his shoulder and pushed the other way on his knee, and the deep twist unlocked another tight muscle in his upper back. Everything was repeated on the other side, and Stiles thought he would be content to fall asleep right there on the floor. He felt like loose and limp under Derek’s hands as he rearranged Stiles again, this time flat on his back. 

Stiles’ eyes kept shutting without his permission, and even when he felt Derek’s hands on his face, they were slow to open. He saw Derek’s face upside down, felt his warm palms on his even warmer cheeks. A little loopy, Stiles imagined the scene in Spiderman where Mary Jane kissed Peter upside down, and it made him flush even hotter. 

Instead of kissing him, Derek was manipulating his head, cradling his skull, which Stiles wasn’t even questioning right now. It had been made clear that Derek knew what he was doing, and how to do it. 

“Don’t freak out,” Derek cautioned, and then twisted Stiles’ head like he was trying to snap his neck or something. The sound was loud, reverberating, and Stiles freaked out. 

“What-” his eyes snapped open, no problem now because that was crazy. 

“It sounds so much louder because it’s so close to your ears. It’s not that bad.” They stared at each other, upside down, Stiles’ eyes wide with surprise while Derek’s were narrowed with...something. 

“Do it again,” Stiles demanded, and Derek obliged, angling his head and twisting the other way until the joints cracked again. Derek let go, letting his head settle down on the pillow. They were staring at each other again, and Stiles didn’t know whether to give in to the exhaustion or to the sudden adrenaline that came from Derek’s hands being on him.

“You should go to bed,” Derek said after a few long moments. He was probably right, and Stiles’ yawn punctuated the point, but there was still a buzzing under his skin that he couldn’t—or didn’t—want to ignore. 

“You should touch me some more,” Stiles said, knowing that he should feel embarrassed but unable to process complex emotions right then. “Scott said that you thought I wanted space. I don’t want space.”

Derek looked at him with an unreadable expression, then put his hands back on the sides of Stiles’ face, his touch light, like he thought he thought maybe he’d misunderstood. Stiles turned his face to nuzzle one of Derek’s hands, and Derek closed his eyes let his head drop down to rest their foreheads together. After a few seconds, he dropped his head even further to nestle his face against Stiles’ neck, breathing deeply. Stiles let out a sigh of relief; this felt good. Right. Like Pack. Like something more. 

Derek’s hands moved to his shoulders, gripping tighter now, and Stiles raised his arms to wrap his own hands around Derek’s wrists. 

“I was worried about you,” Derek said quietly, turning his head a little so that Stiles could feel the words being spoken into his ear. 

“I knew you guys were close, it wasn’t that dangerous-”

“Not about that. I know you can hold your own. I was worried when you got hurt. I could hear it. When I got closer, I could smell your pain. It felt like I could feel it.” He took another deep breath, like he needed to reassure himself of something. “I worry when you’re away because...I can’t.”

Stiles stroked his thumbs along Derek’s wrists, and Derek nuzzled in close again. Now that Stiles had said touching was okay, Derek couldn’t seem to stop. His hands loosened and slid further down Stiles’ chest, one resting over his heart. Derek seemed to need this contact now, which made Stiles think about how carefully Derek had avoided touching him all summer, except for the few times he’d relieved Stiles’ pain. 

Now, Derek’s grip was firm, and Stiles relaxed even further, feeling anchored by his touch, his voice, his heat. Maybe this is what he’d been missing all along, before he even had it. 

“I’m not going anywhere right now,” Stiles reassured him. “Except to that bed. And you’re coming too.” Derek seemed reluctant to pull away, but very willing to help Stiles out of his dirty, grass-stained clothes until he was in his underwear and undershirt. He wished he was able to enjoy it more, but he felt like he could fall asleep standing up. Derek shucked his jeans and turned off the light, hesitating on the empty side of the bed. Stiles opened his arms and waited patiently while Derek huffed out a laugh and settled in next to Stiles. 

Even though Stiles was the one who’d invited him into the bed, Derek manhandled him until they were spooning, Stiles’ back to Derek’s front, just like their first encounter this summer. He felt warm and comfortable and relaxed in a way he never really had before. 

“Ugh, why haven’t we been doing this all summer.” It was mostly a rhetorical question, but Derek was quiet for so long that he didn’t think he was going to answer anyway. When Stiles was right on the edge of sleep, Derek’s arms tightened around him, somehow pulling him even closer, and he spoke right into his ear again. 

“Because I didn’t think I would be able to let go.”

Stiles felt a thrill go through him, sleep momentarily forgotten as he whispered back. “Then don’t.”

“You have to go back to school,” Derek said immediately, even as his thumb rubbed along Stiles’ chest.

“I hate it there.”

“You have to go to school.”

“There’s schools closer to here. I was thinking about transferring anyway.”

Derek paused, but Stiles thought he could hear a smile in his voice when he responded. “Let’s talk about this in the morning.” 

Stiles grinned in the darkness. Maybe they would talk in the morning. Or maybe they would sleep in. Maybe he would wake up, harder than he’d ever been, to Derek’s voice in his ear and his hands on his body. Maybe Derek would insist that Stiles was on bed rest for the day to recover and kick everyone out. Maybe they would eat breakfast in bed, and actually have that talk. Maybe Stiles would get that full body massage and learn what it was like to be at the center of Derek’s focus. Maybe he would be aching by the end of it, and need Derek to focus that intensity on other parts of him. Then maybe Stiles would nap, surrounded by strong arms and sheets that smelled like them. Maybe Stiles would stay. Maybe he wouldn’t let go.


End file.
